Baby
by Katria Bloom
Summary: She knew the moment he was concieved...A look at Draco Malfoy's life through the eyes of his mother...slight Drarry slash...


_This is one that I've just recently had in my head. I read 'A Ridiculous Notion' and this one hit me. I hope you like it, it's different than anything I've ever written..._

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**_Baby_**

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She knew the exact moment he was conceived. It had been a day just like every other one in October, a high sun and a cool wind. She had been sitting in the sun room, staring out into the gardens when it happened.

There was a warmth that filled her and she just _knew_. Motherly instincts, she assumed. She told her husband and he hadn't believed her at first, but after attending a healer it was confirmed.

She was pregnant with their first, and more than likely only child. Her husband simply congratulated her and informed her that he would be away for a while. Something business-related. She was actually surprised that he told her at all, but she simply nodded and went back to their vast home.

For nearly six of the nine months she carried her child in her womb, he was her only companion. She was alone with her unborn son, talking and singing to him as if he were beside her. She didn't dare venture to name him, simply calling him 'Baby'.

As her stomach swelled she saw less and less of her husband and found herself happier than she had ever been. She decided that there was no feeling so precious as being with child, and she had never felt more complete than she did with that child growing in her body.

Eight months into her pregnancy she was awoken by frantic kicking. Pressing the palms of her hands into her large stomach she whispered, "Be calm, little one. You have Mum's attention."

She slid the silky top of her pyjamas up and stared down at the stretched, alabaster skin of her stomach in awe, watching as little feet pressed out from the inside.

"You're a strong one, Baby. And stubborn, if your constant kicking is any indication."

She noticed a few hours later that there were bruises on her stomach in the vague shape of small feet. Instead of feeling the tenderness that came with them, she simply laughed and said, "Tired of being all cooped up, Baby? So am I."

She was alone when her water broke. She didn't contact her husband, simply gathered a few of her things and went to the hospital on her own.

It was a very fast labour. Within an hour of her arrival at the hospital she was cradling a bald, very pink baby boy.

"What's his name, Miss?" a young, rather enthusiastic nurse asked, tickling the baby's chin and smiling.

"His name is Draco," came the harsh voice of her husband from the doorway, "Draco Lucius Malfoy. Could you please leave us alone?"

The nurse nodded quickly and hurried out of the room, sending first the man then the other woman a nervous glance as she left.

She watched him as he approached her bed, trying to catch his gaze. It was not fixed on her, however, just on the baby.

"Why didn't you contact me?" He said in a tone that froze and burned at the same time.

"I thought you would be busy," she said softly, lowering her eyes to the sleeping boy in her arms. "I didn't want to bother you."

"You didn't want to bother me with the birth of my own son?" He snarled. "You didn't think that I would find that important?"

"You didn't care when I was pregnant," she said softly, sliding her pinkie finger in the baby's small fist.

"How dare you," he hissed, narrowing his cruel grey eyes and lifting his chin. "How dare you suggest that I didn't care about my son. It was you, woman, that I didn't care about."

The words didn't sting as much as she thought they would. He left when there was no reply and she watched as glazed, unfocused slate blue eyes fell onto hers.

And it was then that she cried, praying to whatever god that would listen that she would never see the look of pure hatred she received from his father reflected in those eyes.

She watched her son grow into a toddler, from flailing around helplessly on the floor to crawling and finally to unsure but effective walking. From gurgling to babbling to screaming and on to words.

It frightened her how much Draco grew to look like his father, from the bone-straight white-blonde hair to the calculating slate eyes. There was one thing, however, that separated the boy from Lucius; the small dimple on his left cheek when he smiled.

And he was always smiling, at least when his father wasn't around

She was in the sun room watching him play in the garden around his sixth birthday, smiling inwardly at his determination. He had dirt smeared on his cheeks and a furrowed brow, worrying his bottom lip as he scurried around.

She heard the front door slam and she jumped, knowing it was her husband and hoping he wasn't in a horrible mood. She hated to see the smile melt from Draco's face when he rushed to hug his daddy and finding only a hard face and a pat on the head.

Draco rushed into the sunroom, clutching a handful of flowers in front of him and presenting them to her proudly, saying, "Look what I picked you mummy! Aren't they pretty?"

"They are," she said with a warm smile and a kiss to his cheek. "That you very much, Baby. They are perfect for the vase by mummy's bed. They will look beautiful there."

"Yes, beautiful. Just like you."

She smoothed his ear-length blonde hair fondly as he gazed up at her with love and admiration. Finally she knelt down and enveloped the boy in a hug, taking in the scent of sunshine, earth, and something sweet that is only found on children. "I love you, Baby."

She felt Draco nestle into her wavy, golden blonde hair and whisper, "I love you too, mummy. Always and Forever."

It was all she could do not to cry.

"Draco. Come."

She cringed as her son sprang from her grasp, his eyes sparkling in excitement and he darted from the sunroom, crying, "Dad's home! Dad's home!"

She knew that she shouldn't, but every time that she heard her husband address Draco in that way she suspected the worst. She knew that Draco was still young and she knew that her husband was more cautious than that, but she never knew what Draco was being made to do.

What he was being made to watch.

After waiting downstairs for Draco until well after sunset she retired to her wing, bathing and dressing for bed. She crawled into her bed slowly, curling into herself under the sheets and weeping for her son. Weeping because she didn't know what to do to protect him against his father.

Her door creaked open and she turned, spying a small blonde boy silhouetted there, his delicate hand poised on the knob. "Mummy? Are you awake?"

"Yes Baby, of course I'm awake," she whispered, wiping away her tears and sitting up, holding her arms out for him. "Come here. Did you have a nightmare?"

Draco nodded against her breast, sniffling. She slid over and allowed him space in her bed, holding his head to her chest, knowing that the sound of her heartbeat calmed him.

Soon he was asleep and for a moment she convinced herself that everything was going to be alright. She convinced herself that he would be a normal, happy little boy, just like everyone else.

She convinced herself of a reality that would never come to pass.

She watched his face all the way to King's Cross, trying to find some emotion there. He had nearly mastered the stony face of his father, all but his eyes. It was there that she found fear. His eyes fell on hers and she could see a little tear there, fully formed but almost frightened to break free and run its course.

Her husband was with them, sitting beside Draco and tapping long fingers on his ebony cane, looking everywhere but at the two occupants of the car.

The driver had dropped them off at King's Cross and she shouldered her purse, which contained Draco's shrunken trunk and climbed out of the car first, followed shortly by Draco, then by her husband.

She held out her hand for Draco to hold, as there were many people pushing past and she was afraid he would get lost. When he didn't take it she looked down at him and he was looking back up, the fear still in his eyes as he shook his head.

She looked away as her eyes began to burn, searching for the space between platforms nine and ten.

Just as she stepped through the barrier, though, she felt him hook his pinkie finger together with hers and her heart leapt.

As the three of them stepped onto the platform she and Draco broke apart as she pulled his trunk and put it back to size and he was dragged aside by his father. She couldn't hear what he was saying to him, but she could tell by the set of Draco's jaw and the determination in his gaze that whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

She heard a clattering and noticed two small boys who looked to be Draco's age emerge from King's Cross, one who was obviously a Weasley and one who was even more obviously the Boy-Who-Lived.

Her eyes darted to her son and she noticed that he had spotted him as well, once again his eyes the window to his emotions. She couldn't tell exactly what he was thinking, but it seemed to be a sort of childlike longing, longing for someone as lonely as he was.

Judging by the Boy-Who-Lived's chumminess with the Weasley boy, Draco had already been beaten.

Draco wandered over to her, his eyes still following Potter. She knelt down, appearances be damned, and cradled his face between her hands, whispering, "You'll be fine, Baby. Don't be scared. Just write to mummy whenever you feel lonely. You'll be back at Christmas time, so..."

"Narcissa please, you're making a scene," Lucius hissed through his teeth, but she payed no mind to him and pressed a kiss to each of Draco's cheeks.

"Goodbye mum," Draco said, smiling sadly up at her and dragging his trunk along with him. "I'll write to you as soon as I get there."

As she watched him make his way to the huge, scarlet train, the fact that he was so very small hit her. He was still a child, he still had so many years of happiness left.

Happiness that would probably be sucked out of him by the man standing beside her.

The years passed and Draco had grown both mentally and physically. She knew that he would never be a large boy, he was tall and willowy and had poise and grace radiating from him. His eyes were always cold now, like his fathers, but he always had a small smile to spare for her.

The summer before his fourth year of Hogwarts came and his father was always busy, leaving Draco to spend more time with her, which she enjoyed and he didn't seem to bothered with.

It had been years since they talked as they used to when he was younger, about his dreams and ambitions. He was quieter than she remembered him being, sitting silently across from her and studying her with his calculating eyes.

He had a book in his lap that was left for him by his father before he left, a book that he had yet to open. He stared down at the cover of the book, looking unsure of himself.

"Would you like to go somewhere with me, Baby?" She said softly, watching his body tense a bit as she spoke.

"I really wish you would stop calling me that, mum," he said shortly. "I'm not a baby. And I don't want to go somewhere."

"Okay," she said softly, looking away from him for a moment. "How is school, then?"

"It's school, mum," he said with a shrug. "It's the same as it's always been. About Potter."

She knew that he name would work it's way into conversation, it always did. And she watched Draco rant about the Boy-Who-Lived, a fire in his eyes that she was all too familiar with. He was passionate about the boy. He cared more about that boy than anything else in his life, held more emotion in his heart for him than anyone else.

It was relieving to see the fire. It was so different from the cold.

He talked until his father came home and called, "Draco. Come."

He talked until she felt the bond between them shatter once more.

And still yet, he grew into a beautiful man. He kept his hair long and loose now, just above the collar of his shirts. He looked just like her husband had at that age, just more breakable. Where his father had a strong jaw he has a small, almost feminine one.

Where his father was callous, he was still soft. He put up a good front, but she knew that he wasn't like his father, never would be like his father.

At least, she hoped he wouldn't.

Her husband was gone indefinitely, having been arrested a few years earlier for his activities with the Death Eaters.

Draco had slowly become obsessed with The Boy-Who-Lived. In every letter he send her from Hogwarts the boy was mentioned, until one day he wasn't.

After that letter, he was never mentioned again. She wondered what had happened, but didn't ask. She didn't want her son to know that she knew.

Christmas came, and Draco asked if he could bring a guest. She thought she knew who he would be bringing, and she smiled a bit at the thought.

The boy wasn't like his father.

Christmas had been an uncomfortable but ultimately pleasant affair. She had never seen her Baby so happy before, or since.

He graduated from Hogwarts, became an Auror, helped The Boy-Who-Lived in his fight against the Dark Lord. His father wouldn't have been happy, that is if he had survived Azkaban. She assumed he had killed himself. She was saddened, but not heartbroken. Her love for him had faded long ago.

But she was proud of her Baby, and kept to herself mostly. She would sit in the sun room and watch her memory of him play in the garden, chasing butterflies and rabbits and picking flowers for her.

Sometimes she cried, sometimes she didn't. Mostly she just remembered.

After drowning in her memories until well after sunset she retired to her wing, bathing and dressing for bed. She crawled into her bed slowly, curling into herself under the sheets and weeping for her son. Weeping because she couldn't protect him any longer.

Her door creaked open and she turned, spying a tall blonde man silhouetted there, his delicate hand poised over the knob. "Mummy, are you awake?"

"Yes Baby, of course I'm awake," she whispered, wiping away her tears and sitting up, holding her arms out for him. "What's wrong? Why aren't you..."

"He's gone," Draco sobbed, padding over to her bed and allowing her to take him into her arms. She did so willingly, holding his shaking body to her breast and rocking him. "He's gone and he's not coming back this time."

She pulled him up next to her on the bed and held him as he sobbed. She wanted to fix whatever was hurting him, but she knew that she couldn't. She knew that she couldn't help him anymore."

"I miss him, so much," Draco hissed, his body being wracked by harsh, painful-sounding sobs. "He can't be gone, I need him..."

And she just rocked. "What happened?" She asked finally, when Draco's crying quieted.

"Voldemort, he..." Draco said, before his voice hitched. "It was a surprise attack, none of us knew what was...and he..."

And he stopped, his eyes going wide and his lips shaking. "He killed him, mum. He..."

And she just rocked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"HE WASN'T MEANT TO DIE!" her son screamed and she held on tighter still. "He was meant to live, and bleed, and fuck, and fight."

And she held him until he had no more tears left, and he fell asleep, worn and tired and _defeated_ against her chest.

When she woke up he was gone. Two days later she heard that he had killed Voldemort. A fortnight later she got news that he had killed himself.

It was as she always feared. Her Baby was like his father after all.

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I hope you liked it! I would, however, like to know what you think.


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